


A Measure of Comfort

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [25]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Concussions, Explosions, Fire, Gen, Major Character Injury, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Prompt No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKSDisorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing EarsHe's halfway up the grand staircase that spans the front of the building when the bomb goes off.
Series: October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947595
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	A Measure of Comfort

Malcolm runs.

He runs as fast as he possibly can, the impact of the pavement jolting through his bones every time his feet hit the ground. He runs because his team is inside the old church, not answering their phones, and he's just discovered that there's a bomb in there somewhere, counting down the seconds until their impending deaths.

The killer gave him the choice of pursuing him even farther away from the scene or going back to warn the team.

It wasn't even a choice.

He's halfway up the grand staircase that spans the front of the building when the bomb goes off.

His body is tossed back with enough force that he overshoots the steps completely and hits the ground at the edge of the sidewalk, his momentum keeping him rolling into the street, his vision a spinning wheel of fire and pavement until everything goes black.

He's only out for a moment or two, just long enough for the driver that slammed on her brakes to avoid running him over to rush to his side and place her fingers on his throat, feeling for a pulse. He blinks his eyes open at the press of cold fingers against his skin and can just barely make out the shape of a woman kneeling next to him, talking into her phone. Or rather, two women on their phones that he tries to blink back into one person as a disturbing case of double vision leaves him queasy and unsettled where he lays in the street.

It takes him longer than he's comfortable with to realize he can't hear her words. Her mouths are moving (and Malcolm has to swallow hard around the bile that floods his own mouth as his battered brain tries — and fails — to make sense of the distorted and doubled world around him), but Malcolm can only hear the high pitch ringing that seems to start in his eardrums then bounce around through his head like the world's worst game of Brick Breaker.

He closes his eyes and rolls his head to the side, trying to relieve the ache he feels at the back of his skull. It doesn't help. But when he opens his eyes again and sees the flaming blaze of the crumbling church, his memories slam into him like a freight train and he suddenly recalls exactly why he was at the church in the first place.

The woman's hands (all four of them) try to hold him down as he pushes himself up, his eyes slamming shut against the nausea that builds and grows with every movement, but he weakly swats her hands away (or tries to. He misses completely, but she seems to understand his intent and pulls away regardless). By the time he gets his feet beneath him, he can't hold back any longer and plants a hand on the hood of the nearest car as he doubles over and throws up the meager contents of his stomach all over the street.

He swipes his lips with the back of his hand as he stumbles towards the blaze, listing dangerously to his left as he moves, slamming into a parked car before he rights himself enough to press on.

"Gil!" he yells as he stumbles up the concrete steps, now littered with debris from the explosion. "Dani! JT!"

The wall of heat from the raging blaze keeps him from getting closer than maybe twenty feet from the building before he needs to hold an arm up to protect the exposed skin of his face from the sweltering inferno, but still he presses forward, trying to get to the warped and burning front door.

It feels like his skin is melting as he reaches out towards the antique metal thumb-latch door handle, but just as he's about to make contact, strong arms wrap around him, yanking him away from the doors as they splinter and pop, and he only belatedly realizes that he's starting to hear the roaring blaze, but the sudden and entirely unexpected movement makes his aching head swim and he just barely misses his suit as he turns his head and vomits once again.

It takes until he's back at street level for him to get his bearings enough to fight the crushing grip around his body. The arms release him almost immediately and spin him around, grasping his upper arms in a death grip as he sags towards the ground at the swirling movement, but it doesn't even matter because it's Gil that's holding him up and he nearly sobs in relief, tugging him close and throwing his arms around the man.

When he lets go, he ends up in slow descent to the ground, controlled by Gil's hands on his arms once again, and soon he's leaning against the side of a car with Gil crouched in front of him, warm hands on either side of his face, forcing Malcolm to look up at him.

"—ight. Bright! Talk to me kid." Gil might be shouting but Malcolm can still barely hear him over the high-pitched trilling in his ears.

More importantly, though, Gil is bleeding. Quite a lot. His nose is maybe broken and there's a gash on the side of his head that is trickling steadily down his face. Malcolm reaches out but his hand misses the mark, passing through the wrong version of Gil before falling limply to his side.

"Yu'r bleedin.'" Malcolm frowns when the words come out slurred and slow and not sounding at all like they should.

"You are, too," Gil says, looking far too concerned about Malcolm and not nearly as concerned about himself as he should. "Hang tight, okay?"

Gil stumbles a few feet to Malcolm's left and Malcolm watches as JT limps over with Dani clutched tightly to his chest, her head resting limply on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm as he cradles her in a firm but gentle grip. Gil quickly helps JT lower Dani to the ground, and Malcolm starts the slow crawl over to his team.

"Jesus, Bright," Gil says, laying a hand on his shoulder and helping to ease him back to a sitting position. "I told you to stay put."

Malcolm ignores the censure and looks over Dani and JT, as best he can with the disconcerting double vision that's becoming dimmer and hazier by the minute. Dani is out cold and has minor burns down her right arm, all the way from her shoulder to her wrist. JT has his left leg stuck out awkwardly to the side as he slides down next to Dani, and Malcolm would be willing to bet something is broken, not that the man is saying a word about the pain he's obviously in.

"Emergency crews should be here soon," JT grunts as his hand lands on Dani's left wrist, fingers resting on her pulse point as he speaks. "Good samaritan called it in right after the bomb went off."

Malcolm has vague memories of a woman on the phone but everything is getting a little dark and a lot spinny and he may or may not be tipping over (though he's not entirely convinced the pavement isn't rising up to meet him). 

Gil's hand softens the impact with the street and Malcolm looks up to see his worried eyes trained on Malcolm's face.

"G'nna faint," Malcolm manages before the darkness claims him, content in knowing that the team is safe. Gil's hand, steady and warm on the back of his neck, provides him a measure of comfort as the world fades to black around him.


End file.
